Lauraine Snelling (28 page)

“Today I will shoot again.” That became her vow for each day.

Every night she rubbed some salve that Mavis gave her into the weakened arm, and every morning, she exercised the pain-free arm. Pain free until she forced herself to add more shots.

“You are doing really good,” Lucas told her the seventh day.

“Thank you, but . . .” Cassie laid her rifle down and picked up the shotgun. It was a good thing she had learned to shoot ambidextrously, thanks to her father, who had insisted she do so, especially for a portion of her trick riding and shooting act with the Wild West Show.

But shooting in an act like that and shooting in a match were two different things.

“Okay, throw,” she instructed Lucas and blasted some more chips of wood, the one thing they had plenty of. Every miss made her more determined to keep going.

“Cassie,” Mavis called from the back porch. “Time to stop again.”

Lucas grinned at her. “See, you have to obey the boss lady.” He took her guns and laid them in the leather satchel. “Do you want me to clean these?”

“No, I’ll do that. Thanks for your help.” She knew that his assisting her like this was causing more problems between the two brothers, especially since today Mr. Arnett had come to help them with the sawmill. They’d heard the whine of wood succumbing to the spinning blade until the men came down for dinner, ate, and returned to the mill. All except for Lucas, who stayed to help her.

He carried her satchel into the house and set it by the fireplace, where Cassie cleaned her gear every night. Then he took the basket of rolls and cookies Mavis had prepared for the men and went out the door whistling a tune.

“I’m ready for a sit-down. What about you?” Mavis nodded to the kitchen table.

“I guess.” The fragrance of fresh-baked rolls had made her stomach growl in spite of the hearty dinner they’d eaten two hours earlier. “I feel so guilty that Lucas spends his time helping me rather than getting the work done.”

“If he didn’t want to do this, he wouldn’t. He . . . we all want this shoot to go well for you. And before you remind me that you need the money, let me remind you that we are now your family and families take care of each other.” She held up a hand at Cassie’s almost reply. “Don’t even bring that up.”

Cassie swallowed her
but
and just nodded. Right now her arm hurt, though it wasn’t screaming in pain, and sitting here in this warm kitchen with a woman who had become more like a mother than a friend seemed like a glimpse of heaven.

The barking of both dogs announced a visitor.

Mavis shrugged and went to the front door. “Why, Dr. Barnett, come on in and get warmed up. Coffee is hot.” Her call made Cassie get up and fetch another coffee cup and plate from the cupboard. She dished up one of the rolls and poured the cup of coffee to set them both at the table. Western hospitality was another one of those things she was learning from Mavis.

“Hello, young lady.” He set his hat on the table and stood for a moment, basking in the heat from the stove, before taking the chair at the table. “I think I followed the fragrance of fresh-baked rolls clear from town.”

“I don’t bake them every day, you know.” Mavis sat back down. “So how are things in town?”

“Well, if by
things
you are referring to the three sitting in jail cells, the judge won’t be here until next week.”

“I’m sure their wives are pining for them.”

“Not that I’ve noticed. My wife met with the women the other day to try to discern what they need. They all seemed in real good spirits.” He and Mavis exchanged a look that made Cassie smile inside.

“What do you think will happen to them?” Cassie asked.

“Do you mean the men or the families?” Dr. Barnett nodded his appreciation when Mavis set another roll before him.

“The men.”
I hope they rot in jail.
Cassie knew about forgiveness, but every time she thought of that night, pure fury took over. Every time her arm gave out on her, she felt the anger rouse in her middle. Banking it was an act of will. She knew that anger wouldn’t help her shooting any.

“Well, the circuit judge will convene court, and the sheriff will haul them over to stand before the judge, and the judge will decide whether this is cause for a trial by jury, and he will sentence them.”

“So the shooting match will be before the court convenes?” Cassie asked.

“Yep. By the way, did you know there are flyers around about the match? And if they are in Argus, they must be in Rapid City too, and probably the other small towns around. Porter is determined to build up the appeal for guests to come to Hill City and all of our area.”

“He, well, he and we are planning a Wild West show for next summer. All thanks to Cassie coming to town.” Mavis smiled.

“Really?” He turned to Cassie. “So how is the arm doing?”

“It would probably be better if she were not shooting every day.”

Cassie glared at Mavis. What a tattletale.

“Will you let me look at it?”

Cassie recognized an order when she heard one. She heaved a sigh and unbuttoned her sweater, rolling up the full sleeve of the shirt she wore under it.

Dr. Barnett settled his glasses more firmly on his nose and took her hand, raising her arm. She tried not to flinch when he got it nearly as high as her shoulder, but the man didn’t miss anything.

“Squeeze my hand.”

She did.

“Hold it. Squeeze hard.”

But she couldn’t hold it long enough.

“Good.” He raised it again, then bent her elbow and moved the lower arm back and forth. “You have good motion. I have a feeling I don’t need to tell you to keep raising it higher.”

Mavis snorted.

He palpated her underarm, albeit very gently, but still she flinched. And gritted her teeth. “So you’ve been doing lots of shooting?”

She nodded. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t
have to.
But I don’t figure telling you not to participate is worth my breath,” the doctor said.

She shrugged.

“I figure your arm is going to tell you enough. And when you get home again after the shooting match, plan on the fact that you will have taken several steps backwards and the arm will need rest and gentle”—he looked at her over his glasses—“and I mean
gentle
exercises. No shooting again until you can feel it is back to where you are now.”

His voice compelled her to look at him.

“Do you understand?”

Cassie nodded.

“That’s one of the good things about the body God gives us. It tells us what it needs, sometimes rather forcefully.” He laid her arm back on the table and patted her shoulder. “You are in the right place at the right time. God is like that with His children.”

Cassie thought again on his words not only that night but every time her arm no longer screamed at her but yelped. Sometimes she even caught herself thanking God for her progress. Sometimes.

C
assie could hear her father’s voice as if he were standing right off her right shoulder.

“Ignore all that is going on around you. Think shooting. See yourself hitting the clay pigeons. Take a deep breath and let it all out. Good. Now take another. Good, and a third. You will do well, Cassie. You are a top marksman. You will do well.”

She took another deep breath.
I’ve done this before. I can do it again.

“Are you ready, Miss Lockwood?” Josiah Porter asked.

“I am.”

“Good, then I will call the match.” He raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to begin. We will shoot by turns, beginning with Miss Cassie Lockwood, formerly of the internationally known Lockwood and Talbot Wild West Show. She is followed by . . .” He continued with the introduction of the four other contestants.

Cassie gave a slight nod, and at the drop of his hand, the clay discs catapulted into the air. She raised her shotgun, shattered the first two, and handed her gun to Micah to reload. Her arm was getting its odd vibrating feeling too soon. In practice, that hadn’t happened until near the end. She shot clean until the last round, when she missed one.

“First place of this round goes to Ty Fuller, second to Cassie Lockwood, and third to our own George Sands. Let’s give them a round of applause for a match well shot.” At the end of the applause, he nodded and smiled. “Our second event will be held over by the shed. This time they will be shooting live birds that we imported from Texas, since most of our birds had the wisdom to go south.” He led the way with the contestants, the spectators following dutifully.

Cassie thought only of the shoot. With Micah walking beside her, she ignored the tiredness already making itself known in her right arm. Tired she could ignore. She was thankful for no pain. This time she would have to shoot even more quickly. Perhaps her having shot quail and partridge in the wild would be an assist here.

At the end of this event, she dropped to third, but with the first two contenders in a tie, she was only off by one bird. But that was one bird too many.

The one with the lowest score would win the day.

“We will have an intermission while we finish setting up for the revolver events. There is hot coffee and doughnuts available at the table behind us. Please help yourselves.”

“Can I get you some, Cassie?” Mavis asked.

“Please, with cream and sugar.” Cassie smiled her appreciation. Micah finished wrapping her shotgun and put it back in the case, removing the wooden box with her matching revolvers nestled in soft bags in the cotton nest. At least she could shoot this round left-handed. She was grateful now that she’d learned to do so. Often she’d outshot with her left. Today had to be a repeat of those performances.

She accepted the mug of coffee and wrapped both hands around it. She needed it as much for warmth on the outside as on the inside. Sipping, she smiled at Lucas, who’d been the runner. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Other than a chair in front of the blazing fireplace, I can’t think of a thing.”

“At least the sun is out and the wind has died down. For a December day, this is positively balmy.” Mavis glanced at Cassie’s right arm and raised her eyebrows.

“I’m doing all right,” Cassie assured her. “Tiring and a little tingly, but holding up.” While Cassie appreciated her concern, all she really wanted was her father beside her, giving suggestions but at the same time making little jabs at the other contestants so that she laughed.
“Keep it lighthearted,”
he always told her.
“If you’re having a good time, you will shoot far more accurately.”
He also bet money on her. The knowledge of his betting always made her tighten up, just a little. Something she’d never told him, but he must have sensed it, because after a time, he’d never mentioned it again.

Cassie took first place with revolvers, bringing on a burst of applause.

“But you’re right-handed.” Mavis stared at her, her eyes wide. “That was amazing shooting.”

“I trained myself for the Wild West Show. My father said being ambidextrous was a helpful skill, and today I proved him right.”

By the time they’d completed the revolver rounds, Josiah announced there would be a break for the noon meal. “We’ll offer a full dinner tonight at my hotel, but the staff has set up a table with sandwiches, hot soup, and various other delicious items. Please help yourselves. There are plenty of tables and chairs inside the building here.” He led the way and from the doorway instructed, “Please allow our contestants and their associates to go first.”

Gretchen sat next to Cassie with her mother on the other side. “You were so good out there.”

“Thank you.” Cassie rubbed her sore arm. It wasn’t quite as bad as she had feared it would be, but the hardest event was yet to come.

“Excuse me. Could I speak with you, Miss Lockwood?”

Cassie looked up to see the man currently in first place smiling at her. “Of course.”

“I’m sure you do not recognize me, but I met you and your father some years ago at another shoot.” He squinted his eyes to remember better. “Maybe seven years ago?”

‘I’m sorry, but you are right. I don’t remember you, but I’m glad you came for our shoot here. Where are you from?”

“Now I live in Kansas City. I used to live near Oklahoma City. I always wondered what happened to you when news filtered out that the Wild West Show had disbanded. Pardon me for being nosy, but is there a reason you have not kept in contact with any of the other shooters? Or the matches that are held?”

She shook her head slightly. “The plain and simple fact is that I never had a list with names or addresses. For years my father took care of all that, and after he died, Jason Talbot did. I was trying to put a list together, but a few weeks ago our wagon with all the papers burned, and I had no idea where to turn. When Mr. Porter saw me give a shooting demonstration, he came up with this idea. We hope to make this and possibly a small Wild West show yearly events.”

“That is surely good news. Is the rumor true? That you’ve been shot in the arm?”

“Yes. Embarrassingly so.”

“And you are still shooting this well today. That is amazing.” He held out his hand with a paper in it. “Here is my address, and now that I have yours, I will send a list of upcoming shoots to you. Perhaps you will decide to participate.”

Cassie blinked at him. Was this man for real? “How kind of you.” She took the card and put it in her pocket for now. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

“You are interested then?”

“I am. Absolutely.”

“Good. We always need younger shooters coming into the meets, especially a woman like you. I remember your father with esteem. He was a fine gentleman and an exciting challenge when shooting.”

Cassie hoped her smile stayed in place. “Thank you. It is good to know he is missed.”

“I need to get ready. Good luck.”

“Yes, I wish the same to you.”

“Cassie, that is so exciting.” Gretchen stared from Cassie to the figure walking away.

“It is.” She nodded. “It is beyond amazing.”

“You need to eat some more.” Ever the mother, Mavis smiled as she said it.

Cassie took a bite of a delicious sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. She’d never expected anything like this to happen. While the man didn’t mention it, she wondered if she had outshot him. She won most of the matches she’d entered, both with her father and then when Jason went with her. Interesting that she’d never seen any of the money she won. But things would be different now. She rubbed her arm and continued chewing, ordering her mind to concentrate on the upcoming events.

Everyone cleared their things away and headed back to the event area, where more targets were set up. The hillside they’d been shooting into would be peppered with lead.

Mr. Porter called for the first event, indicating that Cassie should continue to be the first to shoot. Micah picked up her gun cases and walked alongside her to the shooting line. She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Micah. You make this feel some like it used to be.”

“You are welcome, Cassie. As your father always said, ‘Keep your eyes on the target and forget the world.’”

“You know, it was really a treat to meet someone who remembered him.”

“I’m sure there are many that do. He was one of the stars.”

“I want to do him proud.” She rolled her shoulders, and the injured muscle complained. “Let’s go.” She took the rifle he held out to her and stepped to the line. She nailed the first three targets and stepped back for the next contestant.

“That’s great shooting.” Lucas stood beside Micah, who took her gun from her and began reloading.

Cassie rubbed her arm gently.

“Would you like me to do that for you?”

She glanced up at Lucas to see laughter dancing in his eyes.

“Thank you, no.” But he made her smile.

“Good. You need to relax and enjoy yourself.”

“It’s hard to enjoy yourself when your arm wants to give up.”

“I’m sure that is true, but you are holding up well,” Mavis said when she’d strolled over to stand beside her. She laid her wool shawl around Cassie’s shoulder. “Some heat might help. I think it’s getting colder.”

When Cassie’s turn came again, she took her rifle in her left hand and walked to the line. Mr. Porter explained the routine so that all could hear. Clay pigeons would be fired nearly overhead.

“Any questions?” he asked her.

“No, thanks.” This wasn’t new, but like some others, she hadn’t thought about it. Overhead shooting required different muscles and a quicker eye. By the third pull on the trigger her upper arm was yelping—at least that’s what it felt like—even though she was shooting left-handed. She finished the round and lowered the gun. Tracking the clay birds overhead like that and shooting so high took all the willpower she had. Still, she missed one.

On the next round, she missed two out of five. In the final round, the simple act of lifting the gun made her groan. Pain streaked up and down her whole arm whether she was shooting right-handed or left. She missed the last three.

I let them all down.
She watched the others shoot and knew she had fallen way down in the line. If her mental point count was anywhere near accurate, she was next to last. One other contestant did worse than she did. Only by keeping her eyes straight forward and on the other shooters could she keep the tears from running. They were paying prize money only to the first through third placements. Was there any chance she might have come in number three? Her one chance to earn some cash to help them through the winter. Micah needed a warm coat; he’d not lived through a winter like this before. And all of his and Chief’s clothes, their show apparel and equipment were taken by the fire. And now she’d have no way to help them. Nor would she be able to repay Mr. and Mrs. McKittrick for their investment in shells for her guns.

Her worry must have leaked out onto her face, for Mavis leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Cassie, don’t worry about those things. God will provide. You have all of us to help you.”

Cassie reached for her hand and clenched it tight.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad.” The arm throbbed like it had in the early days after the shooting. The pain of it ran over and around her head and down to her fingertips.
Home, I want to go home.

She applauded with the others when Mr. Porter announced the winners and handed out the prize money. He thanked everyone for coming and reminded them about the dance scheduled for after dinner. “Remember, you will see more entertainment like this at the Hill City Wild West Show this summer over the Fourth of July weekend. We look forward to seeing you all then. And please, pass the news to all those you know! There will be rodeo events too; the whole program is still being worked on. Miss Cassie Lockwood will be both riding and shooting this summer, just as she used to do in other shows. Come and have a good time.”

More applause followed his announcements, and the crowd began to disperse. He joined the group around Cassie.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win, but for someone with a wound like yours so recent, I’d say you did amazingly well. You can be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you. I wish it had been different. I have a favor to ask. Do you mind if I—we—do not attend the festivities tonight? I really need to go back to the ranch.”

“I understand. I will come calling sometime soon, and we’ll set up meetings to prepare for this summer. South Dakota winters are a good time to think up exciting things for summer.” He bid them all farewell, talked with Lucas a couple of minutes, and then waved good-bye when Micah arrived with the wagon.

Lucas helped Cassie and his mother into the bed of the wagon and made sure Cassie was well wrapped in a quilt and his mother was comfortable. “I’m thinking you might have done better staying at the hotel. The weather isn’t looking too good right now.”

Dark gray clouds had been moving in, and now the sun was disappearing into them.

With a wave Lucas headed back to the hotel. Did he ever let a dinner or dance go by?